The Kingdom of Heaven is Like …
Readings: Genesis 29:15-28; Psalm 128; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52
Jesus was a great storyteller. He told parables about the kingdom of God that opened up what God’s kingdom is like. It is like a tiny mustard seed that grows into a plant large enough and secure enough to harbour nesting birds. It is like a fish hiding in the deep water that should be fished out. It is like a pearl, like a treasure, hidden in the earth. It needs to be found. It is like yeast that one puts into the dough to make it rise.
And the people listening to the stories nod their heads in agreement. They can picture it. They have planted tiny mustard seeds and seen them grow to be twelve feet high. The smallest of seeds becomes a plant that expands out and is so large, secure and encompassing that the birds of heaven come and nest in its branches, hidden and safe where their young can be nurtured.
They can see themselves finding the pearl of great price. “It really is possible,” they are thinking to themselves. Palestine was infested with brigands and soldiers. The best way to ensure the safety of treasure was to bury it. You could happen upon a great treasure. “Why, there could be treasure buried in my own back yard,” they think, “and wouldn’t that be wonderful!” And that is what God’s kingdom is like. It could be mine. The kingdom of God is within my reach.
They heard as well the ominous tone in Jesus’ voice as he told them about their responsibility. The kingdom of God is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind. The net is a drag net that sweeps along the bottom of the sea and catches every imaginable kind of fish. At the end of the day they are sorted and some are thrown back. “Could I be found wanting at the end of time?” they consider. “What do I have to do to make certain that I live as God wants me too?”
The parables that Jesus tells are attempts to grasp hold of our hearts and shake us into a new position. They are meant to be unsettling, to overturn our certainty and startle us into insight and vision into God’s kingdom. Jesus’ purpose is to reveal what God’s kingdom is about. It is a new kind of kingdom, a spiritual one that will include people of every nation and race. An inclusive kingdom that does not judge us by the colour of our skin, our sexual orientation, our intelligence, but rather by our faith in God and by how we have lived our lives. In other words, it is about our commitment to God. When we offer ourselves to God we fid a deep sense of meaning and satisfaction in our ongoing life, but we become accountable to God.
That means that the Church is like the net. Its community contains a whole spectrum of human motivations and intentions from the most self-centred to the most self-sacrificing. All are brought into the net. We are all called to a process of change, transformation and growth in Christ. As with the first disciples, we are a varied catch, ranging from the totally committed to the lukewarm.
So the question is, how much is our Christian life worth to us? How much is a sense of the presence of God, of the love of Christ, of the peace and meaning that such realities can bring into one’s life? How much are these things worth? The ultimate truth is that these realities are worth everything.
The parable is intended as a message to Jesus' disciples. "The cost of discipleship," he tells them over and over again, "is very great. It costs everything." They have found a great treasure in Jesus. At the moment it is hidden from the world. It is their secret. They must leave everything to follow him. They must look to God, not humanity, for their reward. The claims of the kingdom are total. They leave no room for self-interest. Discipleship demands total response, total commitment.
As Christians we are searching for a great treasure. We are children of the kingdom, living in a kind of exile from it, discovering glimpses of it from time to time. It is worth the search, for it is a great treasure. But the search is costly. It will cost everything we have. But the transformation in our lives will make it a treasure worth having.
Most of us would like our faith to make a difference – but perhaps not too much. We may have had a wonderful mountain top experience in our lives, a Conference, a retreat weekend, or a moment in our lives when everything came together for us. We perceived God in a different light. But over time the experience fades. We think about it once in a while. But there are problems in our lives. We have to earn a living and raise our family. There are the stresses and conflicts of life to deal with. There is sickness. We go to church on Sunday. But to make a commitment to the faith, to work at it, to read our Bibles, to pray, to reach out to others in Christian love, to give of ourselves – those things we put aside. We want to be committed Christians, but on our own terms.
There is a Japanese folk saying that goes this way, “The scent of the flowers remains on the hands of the person who gives the gift away.” That is the way of the kingdom of God. That is the way the kingdom comes, yielding the treasure to others, giving away the pearl of great price, making bread and opening our arms so that others can come and find a home secure in us.
We have access to a treasure so great and awesome that it is enough to share with a hungry world. What a treasure we have in our Christian faith! What a treasure it is to know what it means to be loved by God, to be totally accepted by God. The tragedies and conflicts of life can discourage us but they do not change God's love for us. Failures and defeats may bother us, but they do not affect our relationship with God. God's love and reconciling grace are forever. God's will is carried out through us. We are children of God.
Of what value is a sense of the presence of God, of the love of Christ, of the peace and meaning that such realities can bring into one's life? How much are these things worth? The ultimate truth is that these realities are worth everything. The Christian story is one of miracles. It is the story of lives turned around, of hope reborn, and of amazement at how, when we seek to live in concert with God's will, great things can happen. May we find that great treasure!
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 16, Year A
Called By Grace
Readings: Genesis 28:20-29a; Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
It is the dark of night. Jacob is on the run – again. He is running in fear from a disaster of his own making. He is a fugitive with known anger behind him and unknown dangers ahead of him. It is a long story, almost a soap opera as we hear one thing after another from this trickster. First of all, he does his slightly older twin brother Esau out of his rightful inheritance. He then cheats him out of the blessing that is rightfully his as well. Esau is ready to kill his brother, so his enabling family helps him by spiriting him away to a relative’s place to find a wife. After all, he now has the family inheritance. It is important that he find a suitable wife in his ancestral lands.
It is while he is on the run travelling from Beersheba to Haran, that this story takes place. As night falls, he is still far from his destination. He uses a stone for a pillow, and despite the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, he falls asleep. He has a dream. In his dream there is a stone stairway reaching from earth to heaven. There are angels on the stairway, ascending and descending. God is there, not at the top of the ladder as one might expect, but right there beside Jacob. And surprise, surprise! God brings a message, not of recrimination, not of reproach and accusation, but one of great comfort and blessing. "I am the LORD, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.”
And here is the real kicker. “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land.”
It is an amazing promise. What is even more amazing is that God is giving this promise to Jacob. One might have expected a little vengeance. One might imagine that God would have something a little different in mind for Jacob, something a little more suited to his bad behaviour. A little justice if you will. Some come-uppance. Yet there it is. Not even a harsh word. Instead, an unforgettable dream! It would, of course, take a long time for the dream to reach its fulfillment, for Jacob to become the great father of Israel as God had promised. On the other hand it did not take long for Jacob to realize what had happened and to make the most of it.
He wakens up from his sleep. There are some fearful moments as he takes stock of what has happened. He feels that sense of awe that comes over one who has met God, who has seen God face to face. After that momentary period of introspection, he moves on.
He does take the time to build a monument in honour of the place, calling it Bethel, “house of God”. But let’s face it! His behaviour continues to prove that he has not really changed at all. He is still the grasping man that his name suggests. The baby that came out of the womb grabbing his brother’s heel, the young man who grabbed his brother’s inheritance, is quick to grab for what he wants, even when God is the giver. He is also quick to avoid the real work of redemption to which God has called him.
And so we are left to ponder, what on earth is God thinking? There are two truly amazing aspects of this story. The over riding one, of course, is God’s amazing grace. The other is whom God chooses. There is no other answer for it, is there? Jacob does not even attempt to climb the stairway to meet God half way. And yet God chooses to bless him.
Did Jacob ever come to his senses? Did he finally express remorse for his trickery? For those he hurt? Did he acknowledge God’s generosity and goodness? For that matter, was it enough to make him mend his ways? The judgement is out on that one. But then the judgement is out on you on me as well. Consider what God has been doing for us on our life’s journey. How God has graced our lives! What God has been doing all along! That is clearly the message of the Gospel. God has graced us. God did that most clearly through the death and resurrection of Jesus. It is what God has been doing ever since for a world, for a church, for people like you and me. So that we can be blessed!
Luckily for Jacob that God doesn’t love people because of who they are. It is rather about who God is. That is the nature of God’s grace. Maybe some of you learned about grace in your preparation for Confirmation when you memorized the Catechism where it is defined in the following way. "Grace is God's favour towards us, unearned and undeserved; by grace God forgives our sins, enlightens our minds, stirs our hearts, and strengthens our wills."
Grace is undeserved favour. It is not given to us as a reward for our knowledge or any of our abilities. It is simply given. It affects all of our relationships, beginning with our relationship with God. And hopefully it manifests itself in our actions. We learn to share the grace by which we have been graced, not by looking for Brownie points. First of all, God doesn’t give them. But even more important, we don’t need them. Grace is free.
Not that it is always easy to access God’s grace! We tend to strive in life, to mistrust anything that is free. But there is simply no other way to receive God’s grace. God has already made the choice to bless us. We need to accept the gift and then use it. We use it by offering Christian service, the kind of service that is always offered by practicing Christians. It is the kind of service that the world needs to see us doing, because it offers Christ to the world. It is seeing God’s grace manifested in us that will change the world.
So it is not just lucky for Jacob that God’s grace is freely given; it is lucky for us. Jacob did go on to father a great nation. And many generations later, Jesus of Nazareth was born into his family. That is God’s grace at work. Let us awaken to the wonderful things that God has in store for us. Let us put our trust in God’s promises. Let us pray that God will give us the grace and vision to be everything that God is calling us to be.
Readings: Genesis 28:20-29a; Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
It is the dark of night. Jacob is on the run – again. He is running in fear from a disaster of his own making. He is a fugitive with known anger behind him and unknown dangers ahead of him. It is a long story, almost a soap opera as we hear one thing after another from this trickster. First of all, he does his slightly older twin brother Esau out of his rightful inheritance. He then cheats him out of the blessing that is rightfully his as well. Esau is ready to kill his brother, so his enabling family helps him by spiriting him away to a relative’s place to find a wife. After all, he now has the family inheritance. It is important that he find a suitable wife in his ancestral lands.
It is while he is on the run travelling from Beersheba to Haran, that this story takes place. As night falls, he is still far from his destination. He uses a stone for a pillow, and despite the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, he falls asleep. He has a dream. In his dream there is a stone stairway reaching from earth to heaven. There are angels on the stairway, ascending and descending. God is there, not at the top of the ladder as one might expect, but right there beside Jacob. And surprise, surprise! God brings a message, not of recrimination, not of reproach and accusation, but one of great comfort and blessing. "I am the LORD, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.”
And here is the real kicker. “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land.”
It is an amazing promise. What is even more amazing is that God is giving this promise to Jacob. One might have expected a little vengeance. One might imagine that God would have something a little different in mind for Jacob, something a little more suited to his bad behaviour. A little justice if you will. Some come-uppance. Yet there it is. Not even a harsh word. Instead, an unforgettable dream! It would, of course, take a long time for the dream to reach its fulfillment, for Jacob to become the great father of Israel as God had promised. On the other hand it did not take long for Jacob to realize what had happened and to make the most of it.
He wakens up from his sleep. There are some fearful moments as he takes stock of what has happened. He feels that sense of awe that comes over one who has met God, who has seen God face to face. After that momentary period of introspection, he moves on.
He does take the time to build a monument in honour of the place, calling it Bethel, “house of God”. But let’s face it! His behaviour continues to prove that he has not really changed at all. He is still the grasping man that his name suggests. The baby that came out of the womb grabbing his brother’s heel, the young man who grabbed his brother’s inheritance, is quick to grab for what he wants, even when God is the giver. He is also quick to avoid the real work of redemption to which God has called him.
And so we are left to ponder, what on earth is God thinking? There are two truly amazing aspects of this story. The over riding one, of course, is God’s amazing grace. The other is whom God chooses. There is no other answer for it, is there? Jacob does not even attempt to climb the stairway to meet God half way. And yet God chooses to bless him.
Did Jacob ever come to his senses? Did he finally express remorse for his trickery? For those he hurt? Did he acknowledge God’s generosity and goodness? For that matter, was it enough to make him mend his ways? The judgement is out on that one. But then the judgement is out on you on me as well. Consider what God has been doing for us on our life’s journey. How God has graced our lives! What God has been doing all along! That is clearly the message of the Gospel. God has graced us. God did that most clearly through the death and resurrection of Jesus. It is what God has been doing ever since for a world, for a church, for people like you and me. So that we can be blessed!
Luckily for Jacob that God doesn’t love people because of who they are. It is rather about who God is. That is the nature of God’s grace. Maybe some of you learned about grace in your preparation for Confirmation when you memorized the Catechism where it is defined in the following way. "Grace is God's favour towards us, unearned and undeserved; by grace God forgives our sins, enlightens our minds, stirs our hearts, and strengthens our wills."
Grace is undeserved favour. It is not given to us as a reward for our knowledge or any of our abilities. It is simply given. It affects all of our relationships, beginning with our relationship with God. And hopefully it manifests itself in our actions. We learn to share the grace by which we have been graced, not by looking for Brownie points. First of all, God doesn’t give them. But even more important, we don’t need them. Grace is free.
Not that it is always easy to access God’s grace! We tend to strive in life, to mistrust anything that is free. But there is simply no other way to receive God’s grace. God has already made the choice to bless us. We need to accept the gift and then use it. We use it by offering Christian service, the kind of service that is always offered by practicing Christians. It is the kind of service that the world needs to see us doing, because it offers Christ to the world. It is seeing God’s grace manifested in us that will change the world.
So it is not just lucky for Jacob that God’s grace is freely given; it is lucky for us. Jacob did go on to father a great nation. And many generations later, Jesus of Nazareth was born into his family. That is God’s grace at work. Let us awaken to the wonderful things that God has in store for us. Let us put our trust in God’s promises. Let us pray that God will give us the grace and vision to be everything that God is calling us to be.
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Proper 15, Year A
What is God’s Spirit Saying to the Church?
Readings: Genesis 25:19-34; Psalm 119:105-112; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Jesus leaves the house and goes down to sit beside the sea. What a natural thing for him to be doing! It is something all of us like to do now and then, especially during the summer months. We leave everything behind, head out into nature and sit quietly at the lakeside. In Jesus case, more is going on than we have been told. He has faced some difficulties in his hometown. People think he is out of his mind. Even his disciples don’t always understand him.
Then the crowds gather. Jesus leaves his solitude, slips into a boat and addresses them from the shore. He tells a parable, a story to which people in this agrarian society can relate. As the story unfolds, they can picture it. They can picture themselves walking through the unploughed field, scattering the good grain they have kept from the last harvest. There is lots of seed. They simply scatter it. They know that some will land on the hardened soil that forms into paths through the fields. It may be lost. The wild thorns that grow up after the ploughing will choke some of the seed. There are stones just under the soil. You can never tell just where they are, out of sight until the field is ploughed. The seed that lands there will surely be wasted. Some seed even gets scattered to the very edge of the field. Birds scoop up some of the grain. But there is plenty of seed. You can afford to lose some. And some of it will produce even in the poorest soil. As he tells them about the sower they understand what is going on. They get it. That is, until he tells them about the bounty of the harvest.
They cannot even imagine producing that kind of a yield. With even a small harvest a farmer is able to put aside enough seed for the following year. What if the harvest was thirty times what was sown? “With that kind of yield,” they are thinking. “I could pay off my debt, put in irrigation ditches and erect a new barn. With sixty times what was sown I would be the richest person in the area. And if it were ninety percent, I would be able to export grain to other countries. I would own it all,” the dream continues.
Jesus simply ends the story there. “Let anyone with ears listen!” he says. They are all ears. Jesus is speaking to them.
But what is he really saying? What does he expect them to make of the story? The parable contrasts seed that never grows and bears fruit with seed that is fruitful. And yet somehow the fruitful seed makes up for the waste that has been involved. We might hear it as a story contrasting faith and unbelief. God’s realm will flourish with or without our help.
Matthew had ears to hear. He interpreted the story for us. He made it a parable about different degrees of faith. It is a very different interpretation, a pep talk to the early Christians. Some were excited by the faith initially, but did not understand. They were unable to receive the message. Some, no doubt, did not put down roots. They lasted for a time, but when troubles arose, persecution, suffering they lost faith. They may even have seen it as proof that there is no God. Some were lured away by worldly possessions. It was more important for them to get ahead in life. Or maybe they simply became too busy to deal with spiritual matters. They put other things first. “But” Matthew points out, “there were enough of those who were fruitful” in good works. Hearing was matched by understanding. They responded to God’s call and were open to God’s leading. They bore fruit.
And what about our own ears? Do we have ears to hear what God’s Spirit is saying to us today? What is the Spirit saying to the Church? What is the Spirit saying to the world? How are we to hear this parable, here in the 21st century in Port Hope? Do we get it? It isn't enough to hear. We have to understand. And even understanding is not enough. At its earliest level, the parable on Jesus’ lips may have been saying that despite all the setbacks they were facing, God had other ideas. God’s realm would come with all of its surprises. The rewards, the outcome, would be beyond imagination. To the uninformed that would have seemed stupid, just as ridiculous as scattering seed willy-nilly seems to us. Who could have imagined that a motely crew of fishermen, tax collectors and sinners could spawn a worldwide religion that would exist two thousand years later? It is absurd, isn’t it? It is Paul’s folly of the cross!
It is easy to look at the Church and see its shortcomings and failures, its lack of relevance. But perhaps that is our failure to recognize what the Church is. It is not our building, beautiful though it might be. We are the Church. That is why we need to meet Sunday after Sunday. How can we be renewed and go out into the world and be the Church if we are not sustained and nurtured by our faith? Are we in our lives and in our work in the world, bringing God's love to a world that needs to hear it? Are we committed to the faith? Are we sowing the seed lavishly? Or have we just given up. We look at the world and its problems. We look at our dwindling numbers and aging congregations and throw our hands into the air.
We need to remember that God has not given up. Faith is empty without action on our part. Church isn't about a building. It also isn't about insightful preachers having wonderful messages to share Sunday by Sunday. It is about the commitment of the Christian community. It is easy to listen to the parable of the sower and gloat about how responsive we are to God, to see ourselves as good seed landing on good soil. Many good churchgoing people are unresponsive to God's call. We have all sorts of excuses for our lack of faith. It isn't our fault. It is the way we were brought up. It is because of what happened to me in my childhood. It is God's fault for treating me this way.
We choose our own paths. The good news is that God is there to give us guidance and support. The church is there to nurture us on the way. But it requires action on our part. We who are privileged to hear need to respond. We don't need to find excuses. We just need to do what God calls us to do.
If we would believe the parable of the sower, although God does not seem to be at work in the world, although God does not seem to be in control, nevertheless, God's realm is coming. In its coming it will make up for all the failures and disappointments which have gone on before. We are assured of abundant success despite failure. We are privileged – we Christians – to be bearers of God's truth in the world. We bear a message of great hope. "Let anyone with ears listen!"
Readings: Genesis 25:19-34; Psalm 119:105-112; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
Jesus leaves the house and goes down to sit beside the sea. What a natural thing for him to be doing! It is something all of us like to do now and then, especially during the summer months. We leave everything behind, head out into nature and sit quietly at the lakeside. In Jesus case, more is going on than we have been told. He has faced some difficulties in his hometown. People think he is out of his mind. Even his disciples don’t always understand him.
Then the crowds gather. Jesus leaves his solitude, slips into a boat and addresses them from the shore. He tells a parable, a story to which people in this agrarian society can relate. As the story unfolds, they can picture it. They can picture themselves walking through the unploughed field, scattering the good grain they have kept from the last harvest. There is lots of seed. They simply scatter it. They know that some will land on the hardened soil that forms into paths through the fields. It may be lost. The wild thorns that grow up after the ploughing will choke some of the seed. There are stones just under the soil. You can never tell just where they are, out of sight until the field is ploughed. The seed that lands there will surely be wasted. Some seed even gets scattered to the very edge of the field. Birds scoop up some of the grain. But there is plenty of seed. You can afford to lose some. And some of it will produce even in the poorest soil. As he tells them about the sower they understand what is going on. They get it. That is, until he tells them about the bounty of the harvest.
They cannot even imagine producing that kind of a yield. With even a small harvest a farmer is able to put aside enough seed for the following year. What if the harvest was thirty times what was sown? “With that kind of yield,” they are thinking. “I could pay off my debt, put in irrigation ditches and erect a new barn. With sixty times what was sown I would be the richest person in the area. And if it were ninety percent, I would be able to export grain to other countries. I would own it all,” the dream continues.
Jesus simply ends the story there. “Let anyone with ears listen!” he says. They are all ears. Jesus is speaking to them.
But what is he really saying? What does he expect them to make of the story? The parable contrasts seed that never grows and bears fruit with seed that is fruitful. And yet somehow the fruitful seed makes up for the waste that has been involved. We might hear it as a story contrasting faith and unbelief. God’s realm will flourish with or without our help.
Matthew had ears to hear. He interpreted the story for us. He made it a parable about different degrees of faith. It is a very different interpretation, a pep talk to the early Christians. Some were excited by the faith initially, but did not understand. They were unable to receive the message. Some, no doubt, did not put down roots. They lasted for a time, but when troubles arose, persecution, suffering they lost faith. They may even have seen it as proof that there is no God. Some were lured away by worldly possessions. It was more important for them to get ahead in life. Or maybe they simply became too busy to deal with spiritual matters. They put other things first. “But” Matthew points out, “there were enough of those who were fruitful” in good works. Hearing was matched by understanding. They responded to God’s call and were open to God’s leading. They bore fruit.
And what about our own ears? Do we have ears to hear what God’s Spirit is saying to us today? What is the Spirit saying to the Church? What is the Spirit saying to the world? How are we to hear this parable, here in the 21st century in Port Hope? Do we get it? It isn't enough to hear. We have to understand. And even understanding is not enough. At its earliest level, the parable on Jesus’ lips may have been saying that despite all the setbacks they were facing, God had other ideas. God’s realm would come with all of its surprises. The rewards, the outcome, would be beyond imagination. To the uninformed that would have seemed stupid, just as ridiculous as scattering seed willy-nilly seems to us. Who could have imagined that a motely crew of fishermen, tax collectors and sinners could spawn a worldwide religion that would exist two thousand years later? It is absurd, isn’t it? It is Paul’s folly of the cross!
It is easy to look at the Church and see its shortcomings and failures, its lack of relevance. But perhaps that is our failure to recognize what the Church is. It is not our building, beautiful though it might be. We are the Church. That is why we need to meet Sunday after Sunday. How can we be renewed and go out into the world and be the Church if we are not sustained and nurtured by our faith? Are we in our lives and in our work in the world, bringing God's love to a world that needs to hear it? Are we committed to the faith? Are we sowing the seed lavishly? Or have we just given up. We look at the world and its problems. We look at our dwindling numbers and aging congregations and throw our hands into the air.
We need to remember that God has not given up. Faith is empty without action on our part. Church isn't about a building. It also isn't about insightful preachers having wonderful messages to share Sunday by Sunday. It is about the commitment of the Christian community. It is easy to listen to the parable of the sower and gloat about how responsive we are to God, to see ourselves as good seed landing on good soil. Many good churchgoing people are unresponsive to God's call. We have all sorts of excuses for our lack of faith. It isn't our fault. It is the way we were brought up. It is because of what happened to me in my childhood. It is God's fault for treating me this way.
We choose our own paths. The good news is that God is there to give us guidance and support. The church is there to nurture us on the way. But it requires action on our part. We who are privileged to hear need to respond. We don't need to find excuses. We just need to do what God calls us to do.
If we would believe the parable of the sower, although God does not seem to be at work in the world, although God does not seem to be in control, nevertheless, God's realm is coming. In its coming it will make up for all the failures and disappointments which have gone on before. We are assured of abundant success despite failure. We are privileged – we Christians – to be bearers of God's truth in the world. We bear a message of great hope. "Let anyone with ears listen!"
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Proper 14, Year A
Comfortable Words
Readings: Genesis 24:34-48, 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Jesus is in a pensive mood. “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn,” he says, and then goes on to reflect on the life of John the Baptist as well as his own situation. John the Baptist lived simply, practicing ascetic behaviour that put him at odds with society. Jesus points out that because he wouldn’t dance he was considered to be a madman.
Jesus, on the other hand, lived life and laughed and welcomed all kinds of people. He ate and drank with outcasts and sinners. Yet his Jewish contemporaries condemned him. Because he didn’t mourn with them when they “wailed” they wrote him off as a glutton and a drunkard.
“You just cannot win,” Jesus seems to be saying. And we can all relate. We have all felt that way at one time or another. We do everything we can and find ourselves being criticized. It happens in family relationships. It happens in our work. It happens in churches. It happens when society looks at the church and finds it wanting, considers it hypocritical. Jesus is feeling down about it, but not for long. There comes a change of tone. How did he chase the blues away? How did he bring things back into perspective?
It seems to me that it happened through opening himself up to the wider mission, to the larger picture as he considered the task God had in mind for him. And from his prayerful reflection came a newfound awareness of the state of the human condition. He perceived the heavy load that we carry as a result of our humanity. He understood the sense of loss that we all feel.
That is what is reflected in the words that follow. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest." 'The comfortable words' we call them in the Book of Common Prayer. And on the surface they are comfortable, for with them Jesus extends an invitation to us. It is an invitation that offers fulfillment. It is an invitation to unload the heavy burdens we carry. Or if not to unload them, at least to have someone share in bearing the load. Who has not felt at one time or another the cares and burdens of life? Finding our way through life is tiring. We suffer through no fault of our own. From unemployment, unexpected expenses, marital discord, depression, illness, loss, fear! We can easily become overwhelmed with life.
On the other hand, many people go through life carrying heavy loads of their own making. They let life make them weary. They remember everything that ever happened to them. They remember the harm and damage done to them far better than the joy and affirmation they received. They won't eat macaroni and cheese because it reminds them of tough times when that was all they had to eat. They don't relate to certain groups of people because once long ago someone said something or did something to harm them. They end a friendship because of some little thing that happened. Years later even though they have forgotten the details they avoid that person. They are in fact a terrible burden both to themselves and to those around them. They never forgive; they never forget.
All of us know such people. If we are honest with ourselves, we have all been there. There is something of them in each of us.
We also know people who are able to overcome great suffering and turn it into powerful ministry. We know that they have not had an easy time. We have heard bits and pieces of their story. They have overcome great obstacles in their own lives. Yet they have time for a cup of tea with a friend. They have time to listen to the pain of others. They may not have much to say, no great words of wisdom. But they are the ones to whom we turn when we need a listening ear. Henri Nouwen, theologian and writer, calls them the “wounded healers” of our world.
What do such people possess that helps them not only to deal with what happens to them in life, but to reach out to others with the love of God? They have allowed themselves to be touched by Jesus. They have given the heavy burdens of life to him to carry. They have found rest for their souls.
There is a scene from the movie The Mission that speaks to me of that need to rid ourselves of our burdens. It is the story of the Jesuit mission in South America. The movie is about their mission to the Guarani, a tribe the Spanish are attempting to wipe out. One of the central figures in the movie is Mendoza, a slave trader who makes his living trapping these same people. After he kills his brother in a flash of anger, he yearns for redemption. The missionaries assign him a penance. He must climb a huge cliff by a steep waterfall, dragging behind him a net filled with armour. Again and again he attempts to scale the cliff only to have the net drag him down. In the end it is one of the Guarani, who cuts the heavy weight from his back. The anger drains from him and he collapses in a fit of laughter freed by the very people he has persecuted.
Many of us go through life without ever letting go of our burdens. We get used to the weight. We become somehow attached to them. Imagine yourself trudging along a road. The air is stifling hot. You are weighed down by a heavy backpack. With every step you take you wonder if it will be your last. A car stops beside you. A friend offers you a lift. You gratefully get into the car but you never remove the backpack. You continue to bear the full weight of the load even when you are in the car.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? Yet when we are offered forgiveness we often choose to hang on to guilt. When we are offered help we often choose to go it alone.
If you are experiencing loss and grief, is there some way God wants to use your experience to bring life to others? If your life is going well, how can you give a little bit more of your time, treasure and talents to ease somebody else's pain? It begins by turning your burdens over to Jesus, by leaving them at the foot of the cross.
Life will continue to put obstacles in the way. Life is like that. To be human is to suffer. But yoked to Jesus we will be better off. His yoke will be lighter in the long run than the one we are carrying. It will mean the end of much of the tension and depression that weighs us down. It will end the discouragement and negativity under which we live. With our burden lighter, we will travel lighter and breathe more easily. It is so much easier to carry our burden when someone is sharing the load.
What is the yoke that we will be taking up? Is it the world with all of its problems? The starving, the deprived the oppressed! It is difficult to imagine that such a yoke could be easy. But it is the yoke of our Lord, the yoke he asks us to take upon ourselves. Taking up that yoke, we can lay claim to his promises that we will find rest for our souls. Amen.
Readings: Genesis 24:34-48, 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Jesus is in a pensive mood. “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn,” he says, and then goes on to reflect on the life of John the Baptist as well as his own situation. John the Baptist lived simply, practicing ascetic behaviour that put him at odds with society. Jesus points out that because he wouldn’t dance he was considered to be a madman.
Jesus, on the other hand, lived life and laughed and welcomed all kinds of people. He ate and drank with outcasts and sinners. Yet his Jewish contemporaries condemned him. Because he didn’t mourn with them when they “wailed” they wrote him off as a glutton and a drunkard.
“You just cannot win,” Jesus seems to be saying. And we can all relate. We have all felt that way at one time or another. We do everything we can and find ourselves being criticized. It happens in family relationships. It happens in our work. It happens in churches. It happens when society looks at the church and finds it wanting, considers it hypocritical. Jesus is feeling down about it, but not for long. There comes a change of tone. How did he chase the blues away? How did he bring things back into perspective?
It seems to me that it happened through opening himself up to the wider mission, to the larger picture as he considered the task God had in mind for him. And from his prayerful reflection came a newfound awareness of the state of the human condition. He perceived the heavy load that we carry as a result of our humanity. He understood the sense of loss that we all feel.
That is what is reflected in the words that follow. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest." 'The comfortable words' we call them in the Book of Common Prayer. And on the surface they are comfortable, for with them Jesus extends an invitation to us. It is an invitation that offers fulfillment. It is an invitation to unload the heavy burdens we carry. Or if not to unload them, at least to have someone share in bearing the load. Who has not felt at one time or another the cares and burdens of life? Finding our way through life is tiring. We suffer through no fault of our own. From unemployment, unexpected expenses, marital discord, depression, illness, loss, fear! We can easily become overwhelmed with life.
On the other hand, many people go through life carrying heavy loads of their own making. They let life make them weary. They remember everything that ever happened to them. They remember the harm and damage done to them far better than the joy and affirmation they received. They won't eat macaroni and cheese because it reminds them of tough times when that was all they had to eat. They don't relate to certain groups of people because once long ago someone said something or did something to harm them. They end a friendship because of some little thing that happened. Years later even though they have forgotten the details they avoid that person. They are in fact a terrible burden both to themselves and to those around them. They never forgive; they never forget.
All of us know such people. If we are honest with ourselves, we have all been there. There is something of them in each of us.
We also know people who are able to overcome great suffering and turn it into powerful ministry. We know that they have not had an easy time. We have heard bits and pieces of their story. They have overcome great obstacles in their own lives. Yet they have time for a cup of tea with a friend. They have time to listen to the pain of others. They may not have much to say, no great words of wisdom. But they are the ones to whom we turn when we need a listening ear. Henri Nouwen, theologian and writer, calls them the “wounded healers” of our world.
What do such people possess that helps them not only to deal with what happens to them in life, but to reach out to others with the love of God? They have allowed themselves to be touched by Jesus. They have given the heavy burdens of life to him to carry. They have found rest for their souls.
There is a scene from the movie The Mission that speaks to me of that need to rid ourselves of our burdens. It is the story of the Jesuit mission in South America. The movie is about their mission to the Guarani, a tribe the Spanish are attempting to wipe out. One of the central figures in the movie is Mendoza, a slave trader who makes his living trapping these same people. After he kills his brother in a flash of anger, he yearns for redemption. The missionaries assign him a penance. He must climb a huge cliff by a steep waterfall, dragging behind him a net filled with armour. Again and again he attempts to scale the cliff only to have the net drag him down. In the end it is one of the Guarani, who cuts the heavy weight from his back. The anger drains from him and he collapses in a fit of laughter freed by the very people he has persecuted.
Many of us go through life without ever letting go of our burdens. We get used to the weight. We become somehow attached to them. Imagine yourself trudging along a road. The air is stifling hot. You are weighed down by a heavy backpack. With every step you take you wonder if it will be your last. A car stops beside you. A friend offers you a lift. You gratefully get into the car but you never remove the backpack. You continue to bear the full weight of the load even when you are in the car.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? Yet when we are offered forgiveness we often choose to hang on to guilt. When we are offered help we often choose to go it alone.
If you are experiencing loss and grief, is there some way God wants to use your experience to bring life to others? If your life is going well, how can you give a little bit more of your time, treasure and talents to ease somebody else's pain? It begins by turning your burdens over to Jesus, by leaving them at the foot of the cross.
Life will continue to put obstacles in the way. Life is like that. To be human is to suffer. But yoked to Jesus we will be better off. His yoke will be lighter in the long run than the one we are carrying. It will mean the end of much of the tension and depression that weighs us down. It will end the discouragement and negativity under which we live. With our burden lighter, we will travel lighter and breathe more easily. It is so much easier to carry our burden when someone is sharing the load.
What is the yoke that we will be taking up? Is it the world with all of its problems? The starving, the deprived the oppressed! It is difficult to imagine that such a yoke could be easy. But it is the yoke of our Lord, the yoke he asks us to take upon ourselves. Taking up that yoke, we can lay claim to his promises that we will find rest for our souls. Amen.
Saturday, May 27, 2017
The Feast of the Ascension
Loss, or Promise
Readings: Acts 1:1-11; Psalm 47; Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 24:44-53
We are celebrating the Feast of the Ascension today. It occurs forty days after Easter – last Thursday to be exact. But being midweek it often gets overlooked. So we are marking it today. It is a fitting day for the whole people of God to gather in celebration.
During my high school years, I went to St. Mildred’s, a Private Girls' School run by an Anglican religious order. We had some unusual holidays, including the Feast of the Ascension. We would begin the day by trekking down to the local church for Eucharist, and then we piled on buses, and the whole school went to the island for a picnic. It was a day of celebration and fun. It marked the beginning of the end of the school year. We ate and played and raced and generally had a good time.
So whenever I come to reflect on the Feast of the Ascension, those memories come flooding back to me. They influence my thoughts. Indeed it always surprises me to find out that the Ascension is not about a picnic. In fact, it is anything but a picnic.
Jesus in his full humanity has been given new life in the resurrection. It has been a time of great hope for the disciples as they have been reunited with the risen Saviour. Then just like that, Jesus is gone. He has reappeared to them just long enough for them to say goodbye. Like a dream, he leaves behind no children, no estate, no writings, no trace of himself except this feeling that his presence was real, that uncanny feeling that he was just here, that he must have just stepped out for a time, that he will return at any moment.
It is a feeling of mixed joy and grief, of doubt and certainty. It marks the moment when the disciples came into their own time, and indeed when we pass from Jesus’ time into our own.
We read in Scripture that he was taken up into Heaven. We see it portrayed in stained glass windows and art, Jesus’ feet disappearing into the clouds. We may puzzle about how it happened, but emotionally we do understand it on a deep level. That is because we have experienced it with the loss that comes when a loved one dies. Death, even a lingering death, is so sudden and subtle. It is so peaceful. One moment you see the rise and fall of breath, the next it stops. Loved ones are suddenly taken from us, and the manner in which they go fills us with awe. It is an amazing, yet dreadful thing. We say and perhaps even know on some level that they are going to “a better place”. And yet we are confronted with the harsh reality that they are gone.
The stories of Jesus’ ascension are, it seems to me, about a Christian attitude towards death. The disciples and we are confronted with the hard reality that Jesus is gone. He has risen, not just from the dead, but from the world. Yet we cannot get away from the miracle. In fact, the miracle is the whole point, isn’t it? The disciples see with their own eyes that Jesus is gone, but he has gone to be with God. He is alive, so maybe their loved ones are alive. Maybe death does not have the final word. What a miracle that is! What a cause for rejoicing!
The Ascension, as he withdraws from his disciples, as he is carried from them into heaven, marks the end of Jesus' earthly life. Before he makes his final departure from them, he commissions them to continue his earthly work. As witnesses of the resurrection, it is their task to continue his proclamation. It is their responsibility to carry on the work that Jesus began. Jesus lives! Jesus reigns! Yet there is a catch! Jesus has left his disciples holding the bag!
So yes, this feast day is about loss. And we all know from personal experience that is no picnic. If we have ever suffered loss, then we can imagine how the disciples felt. This is a very difficult time in their lives. It is a time between loss and promise. How are they to face the future without their leader? How are they to trust that they will have the resources to carry on and to proclaim the great message of salvation that Jesus has given into their care? How are they to know that they are equal to the task that lies ahead? How are they to overcome the grief and pain that surrounds the loss of one they love?
So before Jesus leaves them he gives them a final blessing. That is, after all, an apt ending to his earthly life, a life wholly focused on blessing and forgiving. He died with forgiveness on his tongue; he rose with blessing upon it. And the disciples did not depart in sorrow, but in rejoicing. They may need to wait for the fulfillment of Jesus’ promise. But they wait knowing that Jesus has made good on every promise and they go out rejoicing in the courage of the Lord.
Part of the commissioning is a promise, the promise of power from on high. They will be “clothed with power”, covered head to toe with the power of the Holy Spirit. That is the promise they take with them. It will comfort them. It will sustain them. They go, not to the Upper Room, a place of protection and nurture, a place of locked doors and fear, but to the temple in Jerusalem. They did exactly what Jesus commissioned them to do. They immediately took their worship public.
We have all faced times of loss in our lives – the death of a loved one, broken relationships, empty nest syndrome, retirement. Even loss of innocence and problems related to addiction are about such in-between times. They are times of fear and confusion as we face change beyond our control. How do we deal with such events in our lives? How do we allow ourselves to know the promise of God to be with us?
We live in an in-between time in the Church's history. We see signs of moral decay in the fiber of society. At the same time we see a decline in attendance in the mainline churches. We see an aging congregation. We hear that the Church has lost its relevance in society. How do we hold on to the promise that God is with us and that we will be witnesses to the ends of the earth? How do we rejoice and witness to the power of the Spirit at work in our lives? In our own church, how do we discern the future that God holds in store for us?
The Scripture suggests a course of action. It suggests some things that the disciples did.
It should not be any surprise that the first thing they did was to gather in prayer. They didn’t know what to do, so they prayed for guidance. They prayed for the fulfillment of the promise that Jesus made to them. They gathered the community together and in solidarity they prayed to God, that God would be with them.
That is an important model for us as the community of the church. You may be saying to yourself, "Well that's pretty obvious. Of course we should pray." Gather the community together and pray. Pray for God's guidance about our future. Pray that God will be present with us. Pray that God will be at work in our lives.
But it is important for us to remember in our own lives as well. It is important for us to remember when we face a time of loss or change in our lives. Pray even when the only prayer you can pray is "God, I can't pray". Because that kind of prayer will help us to look back and remember the times when God has been with us. It will help us to remember the promise that God made to be with us always.
And pray in thanksgiving. We so often neglect to thank God for all of our many blessings. We are so blessed that we come to expect it.
Finally we await the fulfillment of God's promise. We live in hope. There is such an air of expectancy about the disciples during this period of waiting. There is a sense of building urgency. "What next?" they seem to be asking. They are about to embark on a new way without Jesus to guide them. The path ahead is not yet clear. It is a time of testing and discovery. Such times in our lives can be fruitful as we learn to trust our own resilience, our own abilities and our God given talents.
The Ascension is not the end of the story.
"I am risen. I am still with you." That is the message to the disciples. It continues to be the message to the church today. We still encounter the risen Lord. Yet that is a mystery that, not surprisingly, eludes our grasp. Our encounter is rather like trying to view a beautiful painting through a venetian blind. We can see the image, but not clearly enough to understand its beauty and perfection. We get flashes of insight. But to full appreciate its beauty, we would have to view it under the proper conditions, with our view unobstructed, with the proper lighting.
When the risen Lord encounters us, we do, for a moment, fully comprehend. Yet it is difficult to hold on to the image.
If we have eyes to see the mystery of the resurrection, we will glimpse it all around us. We will catch sight of it in nature – the smell of rain, the wildness of a thunderstorm, the beauty of a flower unfolding, the sight of a starry sky. We dream it. The kind of dream you wake up out of without quite remembering what it was about, and yet you feel better for having dreamed it. We meet it through the liturgy, through music, through the world of books. And most of all we meet it in our relationships with other people.
And so it may not be a picnic. But we are not left alone. Jesus parted from the disciples. But he promised the Holy Spirit. That promise is there for us as well. May we too be clothed with power from on high.
Readings: Acts 1:1-11; Psalm 47; Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 24:44-53
We are celebrating the Feast of the Ascension today. It occurs forty days after Easter – last Thursday to be exact. But being midweek it often gets overlooked. So we are marking it today. It is a fitting day for the whole people of God to gather in celebration.
During my high school years, I went to St. Mildred’s, a Private Girls' School run by an Anglican religious order. We had some unusual holidays, including the Feast of the Ascension. We would begin the day by trekking down to the local church for Eucharist, and then we piled on buses, and the whole school went to the island for a picnic. It was a day of celebration and fun. It marked the beginning of the end of the school year. We ate and played and raced and generally had a good time.
So whenever I come to reflect on the Feast of the Ascension, those memories come flooding back to me. They influence my thoughts. Indeed it always surprises me to find out that the Ascension is not about a picnic. In fact, it is anything but a picnic.
Jesus in his full humanity has been given new life in the resurrection. It has been a time of great hope for the disciples as they have been reunited with the risen Saviour. Then just like that, Jesus is gone. He has reappeared to them just long enough for them to say goodbye. Like a dream, he leaves behind no children, no estate, no writings, no trace of himself except this feeling that his presence was real, that uncanny feeling that he was just here, that he must have just stepped out for a time, that he will return at any moment.
It is a feeling of mixed joy and grief, of doubt and certainty. It marks the moment when the disciples came into their own time, and indeed when we pass from Jesus’ time into our own.
We read in Scripture that he was taken up into Heaven. We see it portrayed in stained glass windows and art, Jesus’ feet disappearing into the clouds. We may puzzle about how it happened, but emotionally we do understand it on a deep level. That is because we have experienced it with the loss that comes when a loved one dies. Death, even a lingering death, is so sudden and subtle. It is so peaceful. One moment you see the rise and fall of breath, the next it stops. Loved ones are suddenly taken from us, and the manner in which they go fills us with awe. It is an amazing, yet dreadful thing. We say and perhaps even know on some level that they are going to “a better place”. And yet we are confronted with the harsh reality that they are gone.
The stories of Jesus’ ascension are, it seems to me, about a Christian attitude towards death. The disciples and we are confronted with the hard reality that Jesus is gone. He has risen, not just from the dead, but from the world. Yet we cannot get away from the miracle. In fact, the miracle is the whole point, isn’t it? The disciples see with their own eyes that Jesus is gone, but he has gone to be with God. He is alive, so maybe their loved ones are alive. Maybe death does not have the final word. What a miracle that is! What a cause for rejoicing!
The Ascension, as he withdraws from his disciples, as he is carried from them into heaven, marks the end of Jesus' earthly life. Before he makes his final departure from them, he commissions them to continue his earthly work. As witnesses of the resurrection, it is their task to continue his proclamation. It is their responsibility to carry on the work that Jesus began. Jesus lives! Jesus reigns! Yet there is a catch! Jesus has left his disciples holding the bag!
So yes, this feast day is about loss. And we all know from personal experience that is no picnic. If we have ever suffered loss, then we can imagine how the disciples felt. This is a very difficult time in their lives. It is a time between loss and promise. How are they to face the future without their leader? How are they to trust that they will have the resources to carry on and to proclaim the great message of salvation that Jesus has given into their care? How are they to know that they are equal to the task that lies ahead? How are they to overcome the grief and pain that surrounds the loss of one they love?
So before Jesus leaves them he gives them a final blessing. That is, after all, an apt ending to his earthly life, a life wholly focused on blessing and forgiving. He died with forgiveness on his tongue; he rose with blessing upon it. And the disciples did not depart in sorrow, but in rejoicing. They may need to wait for the fulfillment of Jesus’ promise. But they wait knowing that Jesus has made good on every promise and they go out rejoicing in the courage of the Lord.
Part of the commissioning is a promise, the promise of power from on high. They will be “clothed with power”, covered head to toe with the power of the Holy Spirit. That is the promise they take with them. It will comfort them. It will sustain them. They go, not to the Upper Room, a place of protection and nurture, a place of locked doors and fear, but to the temple in Jerusalem. They did exactly what Jesus commissioned them to do. They immediately took their worship public.
We have all faced times of loss in our lives – the death of a loved one, broken relationships, empty nest syndrome, retirement. Even loss of innocence and problems related to addiction are about such in-between times. They are times of fear and confusion as we face change beyond our control. How do we deal with such events in our lives? How do we allow ourselves to know the promise of God to be with us?
We live in an in-between time in the Church's history. We see signs of moral decay in the fiber of society. At the same time we see a decline in attendance in the mainline churches. We see an aging congregation. We hear that the Church has lost its relevance in society. How do we hold on to the promise that God is with us and that we will be witnesses to the ends of the earth? How do we rejoice and witness to the power of the Spirit at work in our lives? In our own church, how do we discern the future that God holds in store for us?
The Scripture suggests a course of action. It suggests some things that the disciples did.
It should not be any surprise that the first thing they did was to gather in prayer. They didn’t know what to do, so they prayed for guidance. They prayed for the fulfillment of the promise that Jesus made to them. They gathered the community together and in solidarity they prayed to God, that God would be with them.
That is an important model for us as the community of the church. You may be saying to yourself, "Well that's pretty obvious. Of course we should pray." Gather the community together and pray. Pray for God's guidance about our future. Pray that God will be present with us. Pray that God will be at work in our lives.
But it is important for us to remember in our own lives as well. It is important for us to remember when we face a time of loss or change in our lives. Pray even when the only prayer you can pray is "God, I can't pray". Because that kind of prayer will help us to look back and remember the times when God has been with us. It will help us to remember the promise that God made to be with us always.
And pray in thanksgiving. We so often neglect to thank God for all of our many blessings. We are so blessed that we come to expect it.
Finally we await the fulfillment of God's promise. We live in hope. There is such an air of expectancy about the disciples during this period of waiting. There is a sense of building urgency. "What next?" they seem to be asking. They are about to embark on a new way without Jesus to guide them. The path ahead is not yet clear. It is a time of testing and discovery. Such times in our lives can be fruitful as we learn to trust our own resilience, our own abilities and our God given talents.
The Ascension is not the end of the story.
"I am risen. I am still with you." That is the message to the disciples. It continues to be the message to the church today. We still encounter the risen Lord. Yet that is a mystery that, not surprisingly, eludes our grasp. Our encounter is rather like trying to view a beautiful painting through a venetian blind. We can see the image, but not clearly enough to understand its beauty and perfection. We get flashes of insight. But to full appreciate its beauty, we would have to view it under the proper conditions, with our view unobstructed, with the proper lighting.
When the risen Lord encounters us, we do, for a moment, fully comprehend. Yet it is difficult to hold on to the image.
If we have eyes to see the mystery of the resurrection, we will glimpse it all around us. We will catch sight of it in nature – the smell of rain, the wildness of a thunderstorm, the beauty of a flower unfolding, the sight of a starry sky. We dream it. The kind of dream you wake up out of without quite remembering what it was about, and yet you feel better for having dreamed it. We meet it through the liturgy, through music, through the world of books. And most of all we meet it in our relationships with other people.
And so it may not be a picnic. But we are not left alone. Jesus parted from the disciples. But he promised the Holy Spirit. That promise is there for us as well. May we too be clothed with power from on high.
Saturday, April 22, 2017
The Second Sunday of Easter, Year A
The Call of Faith
Readings: Acts 2:14a & 22-32, Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
Easter is a call to faith, the Christian response to the Easter event, faith that believes even though it cannot see. That is what Peter boldly proclaims to all in Jerusalem who will listen. "Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy."
But do we? Let’s face it! It is easy for Peter and the other disciples to believe. After all, they were witnesses to the risen Lord! They talked to him. He appeared to them offering them peace. He sent them out filled with the Holy Spirit. He gave them power to forgive. How could they not believe?
And there is Thomas! He could not take their word for it. He wanted proof. "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
Aren't we like that? I know I am. I want proof positive. I want to see for myself. For most of us, seeing is believing. We rationalize. We question. We want to know the outcome before we commit ourselves.
There is something more in Thomas's story that has always intrigued me. It is a seemingly trivial fact that John chooses to include. He tells us that Thomas is a twin. Do you ever wonder why he put that in? Why was it important enough to add? Was it to make the story more interesting? I truly doubt that, although twins are interesting characters. I remember a set of twins that I once taught. They were a real challenge. That whole year I never learned to tell them apart. I was never quite sure when I called one of their names just who actually answered. And being Jane and Joan it probably wouldn't have mattered much. They kept the class guessing about what they would get into next. They knew without saying a word what the other was thinking. They were bright and fun. To have twins must be both a double joy and a double challenge. But that doesn't explain why John told us that Thomas was a twin.
He also didn’t tell us whose twin Thomas was. We can read in Scripture about James and John being brothers. Whose twin was Thomas? Could it have been Mary Magdalene, or perhaps even Judas? Nothing even begins to explain why he made a point of telling us that Thomas was a twin.
That is, unless you read between the lines. Who is Thomas’s twin? The answer is evidently meant to be “us”. We are Thomas’s twins. Like Thomas we all experience times of fear and doubt, pessimism and trust, belief and unbelief. And that is a difficult place to be, because we don’t like to live with ambiguity. We want a sense of certainty.
We see it in the priorities of society. Billions of dollars are spent every year developing new technologies. Meanwhile millions of people starve to death. We worry less about improving our present existence than about the unknown, those things which are just beyond our reach. We want to know.
When it comes to God we are even more anxious to know with a sense of certainty. We want signs, wonders, miracles. We want to prove the existence of God. Is God really out there looking after things? Is the world in good hands? Is everything going to turn out all right after all? Are the good going to be rewarded and the bad punished? Is there something to look forward to when our earthly life is completed?
There are uncertainties in life as well. How can we be certain that we are really loved? Is there meaning to life? What legacy will we leave behind us? We want certainty about who we are and what we have accomplished. That makes us Thomas’s twin. He just wanted to be certain. He wanted tangible proof. He didn’t want to be told. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to see the mark of the nails in Jesus’ hands. He wanted to put his finger in the mark of the nails. He wanted to put his hand in Jesus’ side. Only then could he be certain that there would be no disappointments, no false hopes.
Let’s read between the lines again. When Jesus came to the Upper Room to see the disciples, Thomas wasn’t there. Whatever good reason he may have had, he missed out on what the rest of the community shared. He missed the encounter with the risen Christ. He missed the words of peace. He missed the outpouring of love and concern and blessing. He missed the pep talk that sent the others out carrying the message of forgiveness.
Many good people have the mistaken notion that they don’t need the community of faith. They think they can make it on their own. “What purpose does church serve?” they ask. “I can live a Christian life on my own terms. I can be good. I don’t need the church. After all, it’s filled with a bunch of hypocrites who just want my money.”
Others think that once you become a Christian, once you accept faith, all the doubts simply disappear. They think that with faith all our rational faculties cease to be used. We simply park our brains at the door. We accept the Church’s teaching and follow blindly.
That will never be enough. For doubts come. In fact, I am skeptical of anyone who says they have no doubts. I fear they may be fanatical in their faith. Doubts come to all of us.
Doubts come to us when we look at all the terrible things that are going on in the world. What kind of God allows the terrible suffering that comes about because of war, or famine, or terrorist acts? What kind of God allows disasters to strike innocent people?
Doubts come most of all when we face difficulties and hardships in our lives. We question the very existence of God. Why am I sick? Why did my child die? Why can’t I find a job? Why did my spouse walk out on me? Why is God letting this happen to me? I am faithful. I believe. Why? What use is faith if bad things still happen? Where are you God when I need you? If that is the basis of our relationship with God, then doubts will simply overwhelm us. We will lose hope. Doubt is not the opposite of faith; hopelessness is!
I had this very conversation this past week with a close friend. She is a faithful Christian, raised in the Roman Catholic Church and active in her parish. Lately any number of things have caused her to question her faith – the death of a close mutual friend, another friend’s struggle with a debilitating disease, her son’s continuing struggle with depression, her own chronic pain. “I went to all the services during Holy Week and Easter,” she said to me, “but somehow I am just left with emptiness. I know it is wrong. I need to have faith, but …”
That is where Thomas’s story comes in. It continues to be so reassuring. It says to me that it is reasonable to have doubts. It is understandable. It is human. Everyone has doubts about their relationships at one time or another. There is not a husband or wife who has not at some time had doubts about their relationship. There are no two friends who have not at some time in their relationship wondered whether it would last. And there is not a believer who has not experienced Christ as absent from their lives at some time or another. We have all had times when it was difficult to believe.
Thomas challenges us to persevere when we have doubts. He got to the place where we must get. Like him we must cry out, “My Lord and my God!” It may sound more like a question than a statement. Never mind. Persevere in the faith. Witness to how God is working in your life and in the lives of others. Deepen your commitment to God day by day. Commit yourself to the work of the Church.
And most of all, watch for the signs of resurrection around you. We need moments of evidence, moments of feeling God’s presence. Such moments are given so that our faith can survive the periods of seeming absence of God, the times when we do not see, yet believe.
Where is the risen Lord to be seen?
• In the bursts of colour as spring returns
• In the face of the stranger who smiles as we pass by one another
• In the voice of a friend who calls just to say hello
• In the laughter of children
• In a moment of joining hands with another person in the exchange of the peace
• In bread broken and wine poured
• In looking into another’s eyes and seeing Christ
The gospel is about us after all. It tells us that Thomas was a twin. It leaves us with the tantalizing question, “Who is Thomas’s twin? And there is only one possible answer. I! I am Thomas’s twin. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
Readings: Acts 2:14a & 22-32, Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
Easter is a call to faith, the Christian response to the Easter event, faith that believes even though it cannot see. That is what Peter boldly proclaims to all in Jerusalem who will listen. "Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy."
But do we? Let’s face it! It is easy for Peter and the other disciples to believe. After all, they were witnesses to the risen Lord! They talked to him. He appeared to them offering them peace. He sent them out filled with the Holy Spirit. He gave them power to forgive. How could they not believe?
And there is Thomas! He could not take their word for it. He wanted proof. "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
Aren't we like that? I know I am. I want proof positive. I want to see for myself. For most of us, seeing is believing. We rationalize. We question. We want to know the outcome before we commit ourselves.
There is something more in Thomas's story that has always intrigued me. It is a seemingly trivial fact that John chooses to include. He tells us that Thomas is a twin. Do you ever wonder why he put that in? Why was it important enough to add? Was it to make the story more interesting? I truly doubt that, although twins are interesting characters. I remember a set of twins that I once taught. They were a real challenge. That whole year I never learned to tell them apart. I was never quite sure when I called one of their names just who actually answered. And being Jane and Joan it probably wouldn't have mattered much. They kept the class guessing about what they would get into next. They knew without saying a word what the other was thinking. They were bright and fun. To have twins must be both a double joy and a double challenge. But that doesn't explain why John told us that Thomas was a twin.
He also didn’t tell us whose twin Thomas was. We can read in Scripture about James and John being brothers. Whose twin was Thomas? Could it have been Mary Magdalene, or perhaps even Judas? Nothing even begins to explain why he made a point of telling us that Thomas was a twin.
That is, unless you read between the lines. Who is Thomas’s twin? The answer is evidently meant to be “us”. We are Thomas’s twins. Like Thomas we all experience times of fear and doubt, pessimism and trust, belief and unbelief. And that is a difficult place to be, because we don’t like to live with ambiguity. We want a sense of certainty.
We see it in the priorities of society. Billions of dollars are spent every year developing new technologies. Meanwhile millions of people starve to death. We worry less about improving our present existence than about the unknown, those things which are just beyond our reach. We want to know.
When it comes to God we are even more anxious to know with a sense of certainty. We want signs, wonders, miracles. We want to prove the existence of God. Is God really out there looking after things? Is the world in good hands? Is everything going to turn out all right after all? Are the good going to be rewarded and the bad punished? Is there something to look forward to when our earthly life is completed?
There are uncertainties in life as well. How can we be certain that we are really loved? Is there meaning to life? What legacy will we leave behind us? We want certainty about who we are and what we have accomplished. That makes us Thomas’s twin. He just wanted to be certain. He wanted tangible proof. He didn’t want to be told. He wanted to see for himself. He wanted to see the mark of the nails in Jesus’ hands. He wanted to put his finger in the mark of the nails. He wanted to put his hand in Jesus’ side. Only then could he be certain that there would be no disappointments, no false hopes.
Let’s read between the lines again. When Jesus came to the Upper Room to see the disciples, Thomas wasn’t there. Whatever good reason he may have had, he missed out on what the rest of the community shared. He missed the encounter with the risen Christ. He missed the words of peace. He missed the outpouring of love and concern and blessing. He missed the pep talk that sent the others out carrying the message of forgiveness.
Many good people have the mistaken notion that they don’t need the community of faith. They think they can make it on their own. “What purpose does church serve?” they ask. “I can live a Christian life on my own terms. I can be good. I don’t need the church. After all, it’s filled with a bunch of hypocrites who just want my money.”
Others think that once you become a Christian, once you accept faith, all the doubts simply disappear. They think that with faith all our rational faculties cease to be used. We simply park our brains at the door. We accept the Church’s teaching and follow blindly.
That will never be enough. For doubts come. In fact, I am skeptical of anyone who says they have no doubts. I fear they may be fanatical in their faith. Doubts come to all of us.
Doubts come to us when we look at all the terrible things that are going on in the world. What kind of God allows the terrible suffering that comes about because of war, or famine, or terrorist acts? What kind of God allows disasters to strike innocent people?
Doubts come most of all when we face difficulties and hardships in our lives. We question the very existence of God. Why am I sick? Why did my child die? Why can’t I find a job? Why did my spouse walk out on me? Why is God letting this happen to me? I am faithful. I believe. Why? What use is faith if bad things still happen? Where are you God when I need you? If that is the basis of our relationship with God, then doubts will simply overwhelm us. We will lose hope. Doubt is not the opposite of faith; hopelessness is!
I had this very conversation this past week with a close friend. She is a faithful Christian, raised in the Roman Catholic Church and active in her parish. Lately any number of things have caused her to question her faith – the death of a close mutual friend, another friend’s struggle with a debilitating disease, her son’s continuing struggle with depression, her own chronic pain. “I went to all the services during Holy Week and Easter,” she said to me, “but somehow I am just left with emptiness. I know it is wrong. I need to have faith, but …”
That is where Thomas’s story comes in. It continues to be so reassuring. It says to me that it is reasonable to have doubts. It is understandable. It is human. Everyone has doubts about their relationships at one time or another. There is not a husband or wife who has not at some time had doubts about their relationship. There are no two friends who have not at some time in their relationship wondered whether it would last. And there is not a believer who has not experienced Christ as absent from their lives at some time or another. We have all had times when it was difficult to believe.
Thomas challenges us to persevere when we have doubts. He got to the place where we must get. Like him we must cry out, “My Lord and my God!” It may sound more like a question than a statement. Never mind. Persevere in the faith. Witness to how God is working in your life and in the lives of others. Deepen your commitment to God day by day. Commit yourself to the work of the Church.
And most of all, watch for the signs of resurrection around you. We need moments of evidence, moments of feeling God’s presence. Such moments are given so that our faith can survive the periods of seeming absence of God, the times when we do not see, yet believe.
Where is the risen Lord to be seen?
• In the bursts of colour as spring returns
• In the face of the stranger who smiles as we pass by one another
• In the voice of a friend who calls just to say hello
• In the laughter of children
• In a moment of joining hands with another person in the exchange of the peace
• In bread broken and wine poured
• In looking into another’s eyes and seeing Christ
The gospel is about us after all. It tells us that Thomas was a twin. It leaves us with the tantalizing question, “Who is Thomas’s twin? And there is only one possible answer. I! I am Thomas’s twin. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
Friday, April 7, 2017
Palm / Passion Sunday, Year A
Forsaken By God
Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Matthew 26:14-27:66
The drama of Passion Sunday takes us on a journey from the glory of the triumphal procession into Jerusalem with its waving palms and shouts of ‘Hosanna’, to the agony of Jesus’ death on the cross. What haunts me most throughout the drama begins in the garden. Jesus is facing an imminent and horrifying death. He prays fervently to God, “My Father, if it is possible let this cup pass from me.” But the cup does not pass from him. Perhaps more bitter to swallow, he asks his friends to stay awake with him as he prays, but they fall asleep during his time of need. One of them even betrays him, gives him over to the authorities. He stands before the chief priest and elders, then Pilate, on his own, his disciples having abandoned him. That sense of abandonment is culminated for me in the cry of dereliction from the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
In part it haunts me because I have heard those words on my own lips. I have experienced that sense of abandonment. I have felt times when God seemed far away, remote, even absent. If we are honest, we have all experienced it. “Where are you, God? Why have you run out on me? Why have you left me in the lurch?”
Haven’t we all screamed that question into the cold, grey skies in the face of seemingly insurmountable crosses that have come into our lives? The loss of a job, a nasty divorce, the death of a loved one. So many hurts in life cause us to feel unloved, abandoned. Yet I never really fathomed that Jesus on the cross felt that sense of complete and utter dereliction, that sense of the absence of God. Karl Bart says that Jesus “goes into the far country.” He goes to that place we all go when we are so overburdened with sin and sorrow and despair that we can no longer feel God’s loving presence.
To hear that sense of dereliction from the cross cuts me to the core, because in it I recognize that it is my sin, my sorrow, my despair, not his, that causes Jesus to hit rock bottom. He goes into that far country, and what he encounters there he encounters for me. He is looking into the mirror of his own existence, and seeing there the blackest of images. He has “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,” says Paul. And that is what is reflected in those empty words from the cross.
Holy Week is a journey to the cross. It calls us to convey in some way the truth of the cross. The cross is an event. An event needs to be experienced. The people of Jesus' time had experienced the reality of the roman manner of execution. They understood the horror of crucifixion. They knew of its brutality. They related with complete empathy to the death of Jesus.
But how can we possibly put it into words that our 21st Century minds can fathom. We cannot know in the same way. We tend to turn it into some kind of theological statement. The problem with that is that it somehow takes away from the event. How are we to convey the meaning of the cross in our own lives? We say that we will "bear the cross", but we have no concept of what that really means.
Through the ages the event of the cross has been depicted through the language of symbol, through story, through music, through art. Such images have presented varied and often idealized images of the cross.
I think of the images of cross which have been meaningful to me at different times of my life. The first is from my childhood. In my father’s study was a crucifix, perhaps five feet high, a beautiful carving from Oberammergau. I must have spent much time looking at the figure on the cross, because I remember it vividly. It was a very human form, with an Aramaic face, graphically portrayed. To stand beneath it and look up at it when I was so small, and it was so large, was overwhelming. I remember the look of anguish on the face, the crown of thorns, the taut and rigid body. Such depictions of the cross are not unusual. They provide us with a strong sense of the humanity of Jesus. Such a portrayal illuminates the words of the prophet Isaiah speaking of the suffering servant. "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting."
Compare that to the Christus Rex, the reigning Christ, which dominated the sanctuary of a very modern church to which I once belonged. There is a smaller version of it in the chapel here at St. Mark’s. It presented a startlingly different image of Christ crucified. The figure seemed almost suspended in mid air. Christ was not so much hanging on the cross as lifted from it. A much gentler figure, Jesus was dressed in chasuble and wearing a golden crown. The muted shades had an aesthetic beauty but there was nothing of the human in its impact. The effect was ethereal rather than graphic. Such a portrayal is closer to the image the writer of Hebrews conveys. Christ the Great High Priest, a human offering of perfect obedience to God's will. Through Christ, God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves. God offers the perfect sacrifice on our behalf.
In my last church hangs an empty cross. The ‘Empty Cross’ recognizes that Holy Week does not end with Jesus on the cross for Good Friday is not the end of the story. Jesus died and was buried, and on the third day he rose again. The cross is empty because Christ is risen.
Yet the resurrection follows the crucifixion; it in no way erases it. The empty cross to me denies the humanity of Christ. Do we not consider ourselves “crucified with Christ”? Are we not called to take up our cross and follow Jesus? The good news is that Christ goes with us, even as he went before us, fully tasting humanity in a body like yours and mine.
Somehow I think our image of cross needs to do more than any of those images can do. It needs to more radically help us to experience the event of the cross. The cross allows God to participate in the human condition. It allows God to suffer with us. To experience what we as humans experience. It brings God into solidarity with God's own creation. But if we have lost touch with that experience, we in turn need to participate in the event.
A story which to me expressed better than anything I have read, the mystery of God's participatory act of solidarity with human suffering, is by a Japanese writer, Shusaku Endo, in his novel, "Silence". His work is a protest against the triumphalism of the message of the Jesuit missionaries who brought their form of Christianity to Japan in the sixteenth Century. The story is about a young Portuguese Jesuit priest, Rodrigues. He has a genuine devotion to Christ. He spends hours in prayer and meditation, contemplating, imitating Christ, convicted of his need to be willing to suffer, even to die for Christ's sake.
During an uprising against the Christians, Rodrigues finds himself in great difficulty. He is taken prisoner and is asked to renounce his faith. At first, he refuses; he hopes to emulate Christ, hoping even for the martyrdom that he believes will bring him into the very presence of God. Instead of that, he is imprisoned. From his cell, he hears the cries of Japanese Christians who have already recanted their faith, but who are still being tortured. Rodrigues is told, until he renounces his faith, they will continue to be tortured. It horrifies him. His captors ask him once more to apostatize. They offer him a crucifix. All he needs to do is to trample on the image of Christ on the cross, simply to grind it with his toe.
The image presented to him does not resemble in any way the face that he has come to adore and emulate. Still he cannot bring himself to step on it until he hears the voice of Christ speaking to him: "Trample, it is for this that I have come." Suddenly he understands the message of the cross. His image of Christ is transformed. He experiences the event in a whole new way. He tramples on the crucifix to alleviate the sufferings of others.
Our view of the cross needs to enable us to participate in the event, to understand God's participation in our human condition. The cross allowed Jesus to suffer with humanity. It allowed God access to our human condition. The cross was a sign of humiliation, pain and suffering, a sign of failure. But to the Christian it is a transforming experience that allows us to see ourselves in God.
One further image of cross I would like to leave with you. It is a cross, which was on loan to Trinity College one Lent when I was a student there. It now hangs in the Church of the Incarnation in Willowdale. It is a large, rough wooden cross. The figure of Jesus is made from broken pieces of mirror. Roughly cut, they are placed much as one would place the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It has caused more than the usual amount of disagreement over whether or not it is art. It seems that people either like it immensely, or find it deeply disturbing. I find it a powerful symbol. I see my own image reflected in the brokenness of Christ. It reminds me that Christ suffered with me. It helps me to understand the cry of dereliction and abandonment from the cross. It reminds me that God's power is able to transform even the most terrible suffering. It reminds me that God is with us. In that encounter with the crucified God I learn that the sharing of suffering is the beginning of its transformation to wholeness and joy.
Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Matthew 26:14-27:66
The drama of Passion Sunday takes us on a journey from the glory of the triumphal procession into Jerusalem with its waving palms and shouts of ‘Hosanna’, to the agony of Jesus’ death on the cross. What haunts me most throughout the drama begins in the garden. Jesus is facing an imminent and horrifying death. He prays fervently to God, “My Father, if it is possible let this cup pass from me.” But the cup does not pass from him. Perhaps more bitter to swallow, he asks his friends to stay awake with him as he prays, but they fall asleep during his time of need. One of them even betrays him, gives him over to the authorities. He stands before the chief priest and elders, then Pilate, on his own, his disciples having abandoned him. That sense of abandonment is culminated for me in the cry of dereliction from the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
In part it haunts me because I have heard those words on my own lips. I have experienced that sense of abandonment. I have felt times when God seemed far away, remote, even absent. If we are honest, we have all experienced it. “Where are you, God? Why have you run out on me? Why have you left me in the lurch?”
Haven’t we all screamed that question into the cold, grey skies in the face of seemingly insurmountable crosses that have come into our lives? The loss of a job, a nasty divorce, the death of a loved one. So many hurts in life cause us to feel unloved, abandoned. Yet I never really fathomed that Jesus on the cross felt that sense of complete and utter dereliction, that sense of the absence of God. Karl Bart says that Jesus “goes into the far country.” He goes to that place we all go when we are so overburdened with sin and sorrow and despair that we can no longer feel God’s loving presence.
To hear that sense of dereliction from the cross cuts me to the core, because in it I recognize that it is my sin, my sorrow, my despair, not his, that causes Jesus to hit rock bottom. He goes into that far country, and what he encounters there he encounters for me. He is looking into the mirror of his own existence, and seeing there the blackest of images. He has “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,” says Paul. And that is what is reflected in those empty words from the cross.
Holy Week is a journey to the cross. It calls us to convey in some way the truth of the cross. The cross is an event. An event needs to be experienced. The people of Jesus' time had experienced the reality of the roman manner of execution. They understood the horror of crucifixion. They knew of its brutality. They related with complete empathy to the death of Jesus.
But how can we possibly put it into words that our 21st Century minds can fathom. We cannot know in the same way. We tend to turn it into some kind of theological statement. The problem with that is that it somehow takes away from the event. How are we to convey the meaning of the cross in our own lives? We say that we will "bear the cross", but we have no concept of what that really means.
Through the ages the event of the cross has been depicted through the language of symbol, through story, through music, through art. Such images have presented varied and often idealized images of the cross.
I think of the images of cross which have been meaningful to me at different times of my life. The first is from my childhood. In my father’s study was a crucifix, perhaps five feet high, a beautiful carving from Oberammergau. I must have spent much time looking at the figure on the cross, because I remember it vividly. It was a very human form, with an Aramaic face, graphically portrayed. To stand beneath it and look up at it when I was so small, and it was so large, was overwhelming. I remember the look of anguish on the face, the crown of thorns, the taut and rigid body. Such depictions of the cross are not unusual. They provide us with a strong sense of the humanity of Jesus. Such a portrayal illuminates the words of the prophet Isaiah speaking of the suffering servant. "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I did not hide my face from insult and spitting."
Compare that to the Christus Rex, the reigning Christ, which dominated the sanctuary of a very modern church to which I once belonged. There is a smaller version of it in the chapel here at St. Mark’s. It presented a startlingly different image of Christ crucified. The figure seemed almost suspended in mid air. Christ was not so much hanging on the cross as lifted from it. A much gentler figure, Jesus was dressed in chasuble and wearing a golden crown. The muted shades had an aesthetic beauty but there was nothing of the human in its impact. The effect was ethereal rather than graphic. Such a portrayal is closer to the image the writer of Hebrews conveys. Christ the Great High Priest, a human offering of perfect obedience to God's will. Through Christ, God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves. God offers the perfect sacrifice on our behalf.
In my last church hangs an empty cross. The ‘Empty Cross’ recognizes that Holy Week does not end with Jesus on the cross for Good Friday is not the end of the story. Jesus died and was buried, and on the third day he rose again. The cross is empty because Christ is risen.
Yet the resurrection follows the crucifixion; it in no way erases it. The empty cross to me denies the humanity of Christ. Do we not consider ourselves “crucified with Christ”? Are we not called to take up our cross and follow Jesus? The good news is that Christ goes with us, even as he went before us, fully tasting humanity in a body like yours and mine.
Somehow I think our image of cross needs to do more than any of those images can do. It needs to more radically help us to experience the event of the cross. The cross allows God to participate in the human condition. It allows God to suffer with us. To experience what we as humans experience. It brings God into solidarity with God's own creation. But if we have lost touch with that experience, we in turn need to participate in the event.
A story which to me expressed better than anything I have read, the mystery of God's participatory act of solidarity with human suffering, is by a Japanese writer, Shusaku Endo, in his novel, "Silence". His work is a protest against the triumphalism of the message of the Jesuit missionaries who brought their form of Christianity to Japan in the sixteenth Century. The story is about a young Portuguese Jesuit priest, Rodrigues. He has a genuine devotion to Christ. He spends hours in prayer and meditation, contemplating, imitating Christ, convicted of his need to be willing to suffer, even to die for Christ's sake.
During an uprising against the Christians, Rodrigues finds himself in great difficulty. He is taken prisoner and is asked to renounce his faith. At first, he refuses; he hopes to emulate Christ, hoping even for the martyrdom that he believes will bring him into the very presence of God. Instead of that, he is imprisoned. From his cell, he hears the cries of Japanese Christians who have already recanted their faith, but who are still being tortured. Rodrigues is told, until he renounces his faith, they will continue to be tortured. It horrifies him. His captors ask him once more to apostatize. They offer him a crucifix. All he needs to do is to trample on the image of Christ on the cross, simply to grind it with his toe.
The image presented to him does not resemble in any way the face that he has come to adore and emulate. Still he cannot bring himself to step on it until he hears the voice of Christ speaking to him: "Trample, it is for this that I have come." Suddenly he understands the message of the cross. His image of Christ is transformed. He experiences the event in a whole new way. He tramples on the crucifix to alleviate the sufferings of others.
Our view of the cross needs to enable us to participate in the event, to understand God's participation in our human condition. The cross allowed Jesus to suffer with humanity. It allowed God access to our human condition. The cross was a sign of humiliation, pain and suffering, a sign of failure. But to the Christian it is a transforming experience that allows us to see ourselves in God.
One further image of cross I would like to leave with you. It is a cross, which was on loan to Trinity College one Lent when I was a student there. It now hangs in the Church of the Incarnation in Willowdale. It is a large, rough wooden cross. The figure of Jesus is made from broken pieces of mirror. Roughly cut, they are placed much as one would place the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It has caused more than the usual amount of disagreement over whether or not it is art. It seems that people either like it immensely, or find it deeply disturbing. I find it a powerful symbol. I see my own image reflected in the brokenness of Christ. It reminds me that Christ suffered with me. It helps me to understand the cry of dereliction and abandonment from the cross. It reminds me that God's power is able to transform even the most terrible suffering. It reminds me that God is with us. In that encounter with the crucified God I learn that the sharing of suffering is the beginning of its transformation to wholeness and joy.
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